The Constant Misfortune of the Fabulous Killjoys
by JessSuisu
Summary: A documentation of the Killjoys, and their fight against an evil corporation in the repressed society of Battery City and the surrounding Zones. Look aliiiive, sunshine.
1. Wherin the Fourth Division is Introduced

_Look aliiiiiive, sunshine…_

A shrill, girlish shriek rang up as the radio burst to life, starting Five-Leaf Clover awake. It was so dark that it took him a minute to gather that he _was _awake, the static-ridden voice of Dr. Death Defying filling the room. The only light available was the small flashlight clamped between Blaster Shell's teeth.

"YOU DID IT! TURN IT UP, BLASTER! TURN IT UUUUUUP!"

_109 in the sky but the pigs won't quit. You're here with me, Dr. Death Defying..._

Paranoia laughed and hopped up and down, jostling Blaster Shell's arm excitedly, prompting a grin from him. "Hey! You awake, Clover? Blast got the radio working!"

_ I'll be your surgeon, your proctor, your helicopter, pumpin' out the slaughtermatic sounds to keep you live._

"I can hear that," Clover mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. He felt achy and sore from sleeping in such a weird position on that cramped, uncomfortable couch, wishing he had taken up Halo's offer to share the bed before Liberation had. He was hot too, covered in sweat. The room was dark and sweltering, but what else could be expected from a house in the middle of the desert with no electricity?

The little figure of Paranoia and the hulking shadow of Blaster Shell were hunched over Blast's beat up radio, silly grins plastered on their faces that were illuminated only by the flashlight as they whispered the words along with the man on the radio.

_A system failure for the masses, anti-matter for the master plan. Louder than God's revolver and twice as shiny…_

"What time is it? I thought I told you two not to stay up until the crack of stupid?" Paranoia rolled her eyes at Clover's parental chastising and skipped over, offering her best friend a hand.

_This one's for all you rock 'n' rollers… _

"Yeah? We listen to you a lot, don't we?" Clover accepted her help, getting to his feet. His legs were stiff and his back hurt. He rolled his shoulders, irritated. "You know we needed the radio fixed. We need to keep in touch with the Killjoys!"

_All you crash queens and motor babies…_

"Sure. Anything happening?" Clover looked over at his friend, expecting a status report.

_Listen up! _

"Not at the crack of stupid, no." Blaster Shell stuck the wrench in his hand back in his tool belt, hiking it up to his waist before taking the flashlight out of his mouth and switching it off, leaving them all in complete darkness. They had to save batteries, as much of a pain as it was. Batteries were hard to come by when you were out-of-action. "Pleasant dreams, Captain?"

_The future is bulletproof!_

"Full of your smiling face, Blast. Alright, anyone else up for a bit of shut-eye?"

_The aftermath is secondary!_

"I'm good for now. So you can come for a walk with me, Clover." Paranoia felt around for him in the darkness, hugging him tight when she found him. It was too hot for this kind of interaction, but Paranoia seemed not to care.

"Sure, we can do that. You going to get some shut-eye, Blast?"

_It's time to do it now and do it loud!_

"I'd say so. We headin' out at dawn?" Blaster Shell dragged a hand over his forehead, mumbling something about the heat as he picked his way over to the couch.

_Killjoys, MAKE SOME NOISE!_

Paranoia squealed again, twirling Clover around to the beat of the momentary music that erupted loudly from the radio before Blast rushed back to pick it up, switching it off. He looked around nervously, in case he might have woken someone. But there was no sound coming from the bedroom, so apparently not. "Aw man! C'mon Blast! That was my favourite song."

"Tough luck." The couch groaned under Blaster Shell's weight as he curled up on it. He was way too big for this couch, most of the boys were. One of his arms and one of his legs hung over the side.

"You killjoy." Paranoia took a minute to stick her tongue out in his general direction before grabbing for Clover's hand. "G'night baby. How 'bout that walk now, Clover?"

"Lead the way."

"Get your gun and meet me by the door," Paranoia giggled, walking off, feeling her way out of the room by walking along the wall.

Clover took a minute to go over to the window, parting the blinds and peeking out. The cloudless sky was oil black, littered with millions of stars and a huge full moon. He scanned the area, looking for any signs of movement, but there was none in the shadows. Everything looked pretty safe.

"Y'all take care now, okay?" Blast muttered as Clover left the room.

"Sure thing," the other Killjoy replied.

Molotov Cocktail was asleep on the bottle strewn porch when Five-Leaf Clover and Paranoia stepped out into the stuffy desert night, drenched in sweat and snoring lightly. Clover nearly tripped over him, but he didn't wake up.

There was a very small chance that he would have woken up anyway, as he was probably drunk. Instead, he just muttered and rolled over, hugging his shotgun closer. He still had his jacket on, and his boots and all his weapons. It was impractical in this heat, but Molotov wasn't known for his intelligence.

Clover stepped over him carefully, taking one last look around before stepping off the porch. "He's such an idiot," Paranoia giggled, hopping over the sleeping man. "He's going to be all sore when he wakes up. Ha. If he complains about it I'm gonna shoot him in the foot. I hope he finds a scorpion in his jacket or something." Paranoia held the lantern up, illuminating her face. Her cyanide blue hair changed the colour of the light, grey eyes shining crazily. "Don't you?"

'We need him too much," Clover admitted, looking back at the stationary soldier lying on the porch. "… Even if he is a psycho."

"Sucks." Paranoia set down her lantern and hugged him tightly again, leaning her head on his chest. "Toxy told me we're back in-action tomorrow. Is that why we're going?"

Clover hesitated, mentally cursing Liberation. He had meant to tell everyone in the morning, but… He nodded slowly, watching the maniacal grin spread over her face.

Their leave was up. They'd been out-of-action, living in this run down house for a month now. Training and resting and not doing much of anything, so it would be pretty nice to get back to work. His Division Four would back at the Apartments by tomorrow. Back in action, killing Draculoids and fighting for freedom. The family business.

Their job wasn't terrible. It sounded pretty intense because of the killing, and it could be intense, but none of them minded it at all. Hell, some of them loved what they did, Molotov especially, and it felt good to know that they were helping people.

None of the Killjoys wouldn't be out here if they weren't prepared to die for their homeland, or if they weren't utterly dedicated to their cause. But it was dangerous out there for a Killjoy in the Zones. Anyone could tell you that.

Well, anyone who wasn't a drug-happy zombie of pure perfection. But that's what they were saving everyone from. Becoming BL/ind's slave.

Paranoia herself quite liked being out there, shooting up Dracs for freedom, and fancied herself to be an excellent shot at it. It was a thrill, better than the life she would have had if she'd stayed in Battery City by a long shot. She liked being alongside her fellow Killjoys, the members of her own division, the Fourth Division, and the First and Second Division fighting side-by-side.

Anyone would be proud to fight alongside Party Poison's Division.

Being in-action worried Clover quite a bit. He'd seen what happened to Killjoys who weren't careful, who were shot down or captured and taken to Battery City.

Killjoys who returned from BL/ind Headquarters in Battery City were never the same, wide eyed and white faced. They screamed in the middle of the night and broke down crying at random. They never spoke of the horrors of Battery City, and there was nothing to do to fix them.

Clover couldn't imagine that happening to anyone around him. To Halo, to Liberation, to Paranoia… He could lose his best friends. The threat was very real.

"You okay?" Paranoia was looking at him worriedly, a slight frown tugging her mouth down. Clover blinked out of his trance and nodded.

"Yeah, sorry," he mumbled, letting his eyes wander. He'd managed to bring himself down again, and he felt bad about it. He was supposed to be happy when Paranoia was around, and usually he was. He didn't want to worry her.

"I know you worry about us, but you really shouldn't. Worrying so much isn't good for you."

"Can't help it. You're all so easy to worry about."

Paranoia lifted his chin, smiling when he met her eyes. "We have the second most amazing leader in the Zones. I'd say we're pretty safe."

"You're too kind, really."

The girl scrunched up her nose and gave his dark green bangs a tug. "You're too modest Clover. You haven't even lost a man yet!"

"And what happens if I do?" They lapsed into anxious silence, both finally taking the gravity of the situation in. Clover, as their leader, always had to worry about this; he'd have to face the guilt if anything bad happened. He didn't want Paranoia to have to. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine. Come on, walk with me. It'll make you feel better." Paranoia took his hand and led him off in a random direction. Her other hand rested on the navy and white ray gun in a holster on her side. They left the lantern behind, walking out into the darkness.

* * *

Breakfast was often chaos in the three bedroom house they called their temporary home. Their vacation home, for Killjoys off-action or when things got a little too heated in the Zones.

When the entire Fourth Division, all seven of them, packed into the tiny kitchen, the feeling was claustrophobic and sticky with heat. The sun was still coming up, and already it was sweltering in the cramped kitchen. It was much more chaotic a morning than usual when Clover came back from his fifteen-minute nap. Excitement over going back in-action and a buzz of caffeine and exhaustion.

When Clover walked in, Toxic Liberation mumbled a sleepy good morning, handing him a cup of cold coffee in a chipped mug. He then had to break the bad news, that the coffee was the last of it until they got back to the Apartments. This news was disheartening. Clover stood solemnly in the doorway beside Liberation, downing his coffee, fully aware that he should be savouring it, too agitated to actually do so.

Blaster Shell was at the table, chatting excitedly with Paranoia at the kitchen table, fiddling around with their radio. A slow country song was playing, and Blaster was singing along, off key, Paranoia laughing and hitting him on the arm, begging him to stop. He sang a bit louder and she shut him up with a kiss, prompting a groan and an eye roll from Ectoplasm and a smile from Halo.

Halo Avenger was sitting silent as ever across from them beside Ectoplasm, who was eating Cheerios out of the box they were sharing. Cheerios were a delicacy now, something you could only really find off-action, in old houses that nobody had raided yet. There had been a lot of outside food in here before they arrived, a bit of the world before BL/ind.

Ectoplasm was signing to Halo lazily with one hand, something that made her laugh. He and Liberation were the only ones who could really speak to her, to the girl who couldn't hear anything. They were only ones who knew any sign language at all. It was too much work to speak to her normally, so the two interpreted for her when it was needed.

Molotov Cocktail made an irritated sound and got up from his seat on the floor in the corner when he saw Clover. He grumbled all the way to the door, shoving past Clover out into the hall. The Killjoy leader paid him no mind, because that's what Molotov did. He acted immature and aggressive to everyone he believed was inferior to him, which was basically everyone but Divisions One and Two. It got worse when he was tired, or had a hangover, and sleeping drunk out on the porch had not helped anything.

"You guys all packed up?" Clover asked, downing the rest of his coffee and setting the mug on the counter. He felt a bit more awake now, but also more agitated. Ectoplasm signed for Halo, and she looked over at Clover with a smile and a nod. Ectoplasm nodded too, stuffing another handful of Cheerios in his mouth.

"… I'll go do that." Paranoia hopped to her feet, scurrying out of the room. Blaster Shell got up too, because heaven forbid she be alone for more than three seconds. Clover tried not to let it bother him too much, but he felt significantly more agitated. Liberation saw it and nudged him with a foot.

"Is the car all ready? I could help you get all the stuff in," He offered, but Clover just shook his head.

"Nah. Just make sure Halo's alright, 'kay?"

"Will do." Liberation clapped him on the shoulder and went to sit beside the other girl at the table.

Clover decided against another public address, and shoved off without another word.

Two hours later, after a mishap with the car and a bloody nose resulting from a brawl between Molotov Cocktail and Toxic Liberation, they were on their way, Clover at the wheel. It was always a tight fit in their car, him and Liberation in the front, Paranoia, Halo Avenger and Blaster Shell crammed in the back. Ectoplasm and Molotov Cocktail were on Molotov's bike, speeding along beside them.

Thinking about his Ectoplasm being anywhere near the drunk psychopath bugged Liberation to no end as he sulked in the front seat, holding a hand grudgingly to his nose. "If he so much as touches my brother… I swear to god."

Clover laughed. "Oh, let them be. He's not gonna do anything."

"He's a bad influence, Clover."

"Aren't we all?"

It was nice to be on the road again, driving with the windows down with wind ripping through the car and loud music blaring from the radio. It was a really familiar sensation, and the closest sense of home and family that they were ever going to get.


	2. Wherein Psychos are Met

The Apartments were a large, run-down building long omitted by Better Living. A convenient sanctuary for the Killjoys, with a warehouse beside it for vehicles and storage, and plenty of living space in the main building.

It was also a building Five-Leaf Clover hated with a burning passion.

The Apartments themselves weren't so bad really. Everyone got their own room, which was a nice change, even if sleeping on the couch was still a necessity, which it usually wasn't. There were some proper beds, at least. Some decent couches, lots of proper supplies. Just a bit of running water, but that would be off soon. Electricity from a generator. Safety in numbers, which was critical.

And other Killjoys. Killjoys that far exceeded the Fourth Division in skill, combat or otherwise. Some of which who knew they were superior, and were incredibly arrogant about it. The Third Division was an excellent example of this.

The First Division and Second Division were well put together, and pretty humble for their skill level. They were the best of the best, but they didn't make a big fuss about it. Perhaps that's what made them so likable.

The Third Division, though, they were rough. A tough, rag-tag band of misfits and psychos that had no business being anywhere near a gun. They were effective, but also somewhat of a threat to anything that got in their way, Draculoids and Killjoys alike. They weren't highly regarded for their sense of right and wrong, and were known to attack anything with a pulse if the mood struck.

Half the team was heavily dependent on BL/ind's drugs to keep them in their right minds. Their leader was the only one who didn't take them, even though he was the only one who desperately needed them. As a result, nobody wanted to be stuck with the crazy Division. Ever.

And, just Clover's luck. The Third Division were the only ones in the Apartments at the time, as the Fourth Division pulled up to the looming shadow of a building, driving into the side warehouse. Clover gave his group a final warning to behave and leave the talking to him before going in.

Two of the members of the Third Division closed the huge metal doors behind them, creating a horrible metallic screech before the doors clicked shut. The warehouse was a decent size, made of metal, filled with rickity metal shelves and boxes and crates. Most of these boxes were open or empty, contents such as empty pill bottles and haphazard bits of plastic strewn over the concrete floor. There were a few cars in here too, parked near the entrance. Cars of lower divisions, the Third Division's piece of junk, smouldering away quietly, and now, Clover's vehicle.

Five-Leaf Clover sat in his car for a moment longer, before gathering up his patience and opening the door, stepping out. His team filed out right after him, all of them as on edge as he was. Nobody was overly fond of the people here. They all hoped this interaction would be quick.

"Ooooh, looky here, kids! Look who's back!" Oz, the Third Division's leader cackled. Clover could feel his temper already starting up.

That was all it ever took, a simple earful of Oz's lazy drawl, and he was on edge. Toxic Liberation slung an arm loosely over his leader's shoulders, and nodded a greeting at the other Killjoy, who burst into a giggle fit. "Good to see you again!" Oz chirped, hopping up and down like a small child.

"Yeah, I bet it is," Clover snapped, making Oz laugh again. He stopped bouncing, at least.

"Rude as ever, Clover. I thought you'd be at least a little but pleased to see me." Oz blew his nemesis a theatrical kiss and Clover clenched his fingers. Liberation tightened his grip, a warning.

Clover was so irritated that he wanted to punch Liberation for being such a pacifist, then throttle Oz within an inch of his life. He wished Liberation would go away. Nobody else would have a problem with him killing Oz at all. Hell, nobody would hold it against him if he killed the entire Third Division.

"Tell me you assholes aren't the only ones here," Clover hissed through clenched teeth, and Oz bobbed his neon green head, his hysterical giggle bubbling up again.

"Yes, yes! Just us and two from different Divisions. One left their girl with us, Two nearly lost a man. One's girl is taking care of him." Oz looked around and covered his mouth with a hand, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Though, you should be careful with that one, got it? She's a firecracker, she is."

"Who did Division One leave here? The Little Girl? They wouldn't trust you whack jobs with her. They care too much," Molotov Cocktail put in, off his bike and suddenly vocal.

Molotov pulled off his helmet, immediately attracting the attention of the girl sitting silently in a wooden dining-room chair on the other side of the Third Division's car.

She looked up from her magazine and gave him an unsettling smile, which made Molotov feel a bit sick to his stomach. Ruby Shoes, seeming to be made entirely of faded leather, sly smiles and twin braids that were as red as her boots. Molotov paid her no mind. He hated the Third Division more than any of them, the girl especially, who had a reputation for wanting to fuck anything that moved and breathed.

"Nah. New girl," Oz said, looking back at his right hand man, who was currently bent over the smoking open hood of the Third Division's car, swearing at the inner machinations. He leaned back and fanned smoke away from his face, frowning.

Blaster Shell immediately went over to help him, despite Paranoia's brief protest and a huffy sigh from Clover. Patchwork Lion, the failed mechanic, wasn't too bad at all, as Third Divisioners and drug addicts came. He was definitely the most sane of Division Three. He and Blaster Shell got along well.

"Oi, Patch. What's her name again? Storm... Uh.." Oz snapped his fingers, searching for the word. "It's on the tip of my tongue, what could it beee..."

"Lightning Storm," Patchwork Lion put in, with an irritated sigh, straightening and wiping sweat off his forehead. He left a long black streak across his skin. Blaster Shell pointed it out and Lion looked away sheepishly. "She ain't too happy 'bout bein' kept here. Poison wanted her in-action, I heard. Changed his mind right before they left. I dunno why she's stuck here now. Got quite the mouth on her, don't she?" Oz nodded frantically in response.

"She must be here 'cause they can't stand the thought of you freaks takin' care of an injured boy. I don't blame them," Molotov spat, looking around first at his team, then around at the Third Division, who had gone quiet. "I dunno know 'bout you assholes, but I'm done dealing with this freak show, and I'm going to my room." Molotov hoisted his bag over his shoulder, replaced his helmet, and headed out.

"Been a pleasure talking to you, Molotov Cocktail," Oz giggled. He had all the fingers on one hand jammed in his mouth, and bounced on his feet as he nibbled on them, radiating nervous energy.

"...I'm with Molotov on that one," Ectoplasm said, shouldering his gear and following Molotov to the doors that Iron Man and the Scarecrow had wrenched open once more.

Clover watched them go, eyes fixing on the Scarecrow disdainfully for a moment before he refocused on Oz, who was now spinning his gun with his other hand, fingers still clamped between his broken teeth. Clover was seriously disgusted by the Third Division's leader, even more so by the company the deranged man kept.

Toxic Liberation was a bit more disgusted with Molotov Cocktail, chatting away idly to Ectoplasm as they left. He hated having the older man anywhere near his younger brother.

"Can we just go wherever?" Clover asked, and Oz shook his head crazily.

"Top floor burst into flames last week. So no, don't go there. Third floor's ours, so don't go there either."

"There's some peons chillin' in different rooms," Patchwork Lion put in, since Oz couldn't finish, on account of another impending laughing fit. He thanked Blaster Shell and closed up the hood, pulling off his work gloves. "Just knock first and there shouldn't be a problem."

"Cheers," Paranoia called to him, linking arms with Blaster Shell when he got back to the group. Lion waved and Paranoia led Blaster off.

Clover watched them walk off with a weird expression, then cleared his throat. "Right, well uh... Carry on then." Oz saluted him, his crazy laughter following Five-Leaf Clover out of the warehouse.

* * *

"Jesus fucking Christ, will you hold still?"

"Quit yelling at me," Twinsanity grumbled, squirming uncomfortably. He was very much in pain, and getting berated was doing more harm than good.

At least he got the nice couch, and she hadn't forced him into some hard wooden chair in her dangerous mood. "I'm not the reason you're stuck here, you know."

"Shut up, psycho," Lightning Storm snapped as she pressed the wet cloth back to his bloody forehead, being none too gentle about it. Twinsanity yelped and hissed, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Lightning simply rolled her eyes. "It's still fucking bleeding. Do you need stitches or something? What did you even do to this?"

"I uh... I got shot, but he was pretty far away, so... Cordus said it'd be fine in a bit," Twinsanity whispered, gritting his teeth against the pain. Lightning sighed, thoroughly irritated with this.

"Did he now? Tell Cordus to shut up too, because you're both getting on my nerves. Jesus, they couldn't have left a medic? Something? Somebody who isn't out of their goddamn mind? You know. Anyone who isn't the Third fucking Division."

"Most of them are actually pretty nice, you know. Also isn't the Fourth Division here now, too? Maybe they have a medic or something, because you're not doing a very good job-"

"If you don't shut your fucking mouth I will end you too. Those Fourth Division bozos are even worse, okay? Their Leader is also an impending psychopath. He'll be like Oz, WITHOUT the drugs. Give it a month." Lightning rolled her eyes again, cursing Kobra Kid under her breath. Seriously, what the hell was his deal?

_No, she can't come with us, Poison. Do you want her slowing us down? This run is waaay too dangerous. _

They couldn't be a man short, Poison had admitted grudgingly. Kid just shrugged. He had been avoiding looking at her, knowing he'd see her fuming mad and somewhat murderous.

_If we need gun power bring Cyanide, he might actually get it right,_ was his suggestion, which was approved by Party Poison near instantly.

Yeah, of course Poison had listened to his little brother, and of course Jet Star and Fun Ghoul were granted no say in the decision. When it came to having Lightning around, Party Poison's Democracy became a Dictatorship.

Poison couldn't tolerate Lightning anyways. They argued almost constantly and got along like alkali metals and water. Anything to keep her menace away, he'd take it. This treatment from Kid, however, that's what she hated. It was exceedingly rare. He and Lightning got along well. In the end, it was Poison's call, though.

The end result of the biased decision? Lightning had nearly shoved Kobra Kid's head through a wall despite his attempts to explain the situation. She then started an explosive argument with Poison. And after all that, they'd taken her apologetic and slightly scared brother on the supply run instead, Poison threatening to demote her for her attitude all the while. And so they left, thus leaving Lightning to take care of this pathetic kid from the Second Division who kept talking to the wall and calling it Cordus.

Super. Twinsanity was mental enough to belong among the Third Division basket cases, and this bullshit was stress Lightning didn't need. Not with her friends and her brother out there without her backup. Despite whatever Kobra Kid had managed to convince his brother, she was a decent shot with an awesome gun, and they could use her help.

And as much as they were assholes, she still worried about them. All of them. Even Poison, though she would shoot herself in the head before she would willingly admit that to him.

"You went quiet, Lightning. Cordus is scared," Twinsanity said quietly, studying her face curiously. The attention made Lightning uncomfortable. Twinsanity was kind of creepy. "Are you worried?"

"About the wonderful accumulation of assholes better known as the First Division of Killjoys? Hah." Lightning smirked, wringing the cloth out in the bucket of water by the couch. She wet it again and pressed it against Twinsanity's still-bleeding forehead, more gently this time.

"...Maybe just a little."

* * *

Out of everyone in the Third Division, the most hated of them was the Scarecrow. Only Oz would be clinically insane enough to take on one of Better Living's agents onto his squad. Nobody was entirely sure where the Scarecrow's allegiance lay, though he would tell you, if pressed hard enough, that he would align himself with anyone he deemed powerful enough.

He was more of a freak than Oz was, in a way, the effects of whatever they did to their agents at Better Living still prominent through his random outbursts of anger and demented habits. He also kept his mask on whenever he was in the presence of anything that lived and breathed. His creepy mask with the little happy smiley face logo of BL/ind on it. Not even Oz had seen him with it off.

The Scarecrow didn't ever wear normal Killjoy clothes, either. He kept his plain white Better Living uniform, which kind of went against what the Killjoys stood for. But nobody could convince him to take it off, even though it was highly unsettling, and literally upsetting to the survivors of Better Living's torment. He was quite possibly the biggest controversy in the Apartments, and there was a lot of debate whether he should be allowed to stay.

Clover hated him immensely, though the Scarecrow had done nothing to him personally. Clover figured one day he would just press his gun to the side of Scarecrow's head and blow his brains out.

And nobody but Oz would care.

Clover smirked at Scarecrow as he passed, imagining the scenario now, his blood splashed all over the peeling white walls. Scarecrow's head followed Clover's movement, but he did not speak.

He hardly ever spoke.


	3. Wherein the First Division Returns

Two long, boring days of silence and near constant worry later, they returned, finally.

It was past midnight when they showed up. The night was cloudless, hot and sticky, and the air itself felt heavy. Lovely night for a drive through the desert under the open sky full of stars with the windows rolled down. Not a nice night to be holed up in a warehouse. Nights like that made Oz anxious.

Everyone else was asleep, but Oz was pacing through the warehouse, counting boxes and gnawing on his fingers like he did when sleep wouldn't find him. Patchwork Lion was also in the warehouse, sprawled out and asleep in Ruby's wooden chair with an oil stained rag over his face. His position didn't look overly comfortable, but the Third Division leader's rhythmic footsteps had lulled the exhausted man to sleep, and he was out like a light.

Oz flinched when the doors started to open, and fumbled with his gun before dropping it to the floor with a curse. The steady purr of the Trans Am's engine registered to him then, and Oz stopped moving, a smile breaking out on his face.

The First Division. They were back.

Oz ran to help them, terribly excited. Jet Star and Kobra Kid were the ones hauling the doors open, but they seemed to be having some difficulty. The two Killjoys were obviously worse for the wear, covered in dirt from helmet to toe, clothes smeared with blood here and there. Their colours were faded or hardly distinguishable.

The two seemed somewhat wary when Oz started helping, but neither said a word to him other than a polite "thank you". Oz enlisted the help of Patchwork Lion to close the doors by kicking over the chair Lion had been sleeping in beside their own car once Poison had driven in. This sent his subordinate face planting into the cement floor with a startled cry. Lion recovered quickly and scrambled to aid his leader.

Party Poison cut the engine and stepped out of the Trans Am. The First Division leader sported a fantastic purple bruise on the side of his head that contrasted his signature bright red hair. He had a bandaged arm and a bleeding lip too, but seemed fine otherwise. Fun Ghoul was fine, too, scrapes and scratches here and there. He helped Little Girl out of the car and sent her over to Kid.

Cyanide Happiness, though, was unconscious. Poison and Ghoul hauled him out of the car as gently as they could, which was none-too-gently anyways. He had a rather nasty cut on his forehead and a lot of blood on one leg. It appeared to not be bandaged. A recent wound.

"Tough run?" Oz snickered, eliciting a glare from Poison.

"You have no idea," Kid muttered, pulling off his helmet and tossing it into the back seat. Little Girl frowned and took his hand, looking at Oz. Kid didn't blame her for not liking him. Not only did he have a bit of a reputation already, Oz was darn unsettling to look at with his creepy, broken toothed smile and crazy blue eyes. "Look, are any medical units left around here? Or are we relying on Jet again to fix this problem we're having? He's a bit under the weather himself..."

"What happened to him?" Oz ignored Kid's question, and went instead to lean up against the Killjoymobile. He smirked nodded at Cyanide, who was being carried off. "He doesn't look so good, no no. What happened?"

"Well he got shot in the leg," Jet mumbled, taking his helmet off as well. He had bandages over one eye, and he didn't look all that happy. Oz gawked at him, intrigued by the injury.

"Three times. Shot in the leg three times", Kid added when it looked like Oz was going to ask about the wound. He changed the subject swiftly. "Oh jeez, Lightning's not gonna like this, is she?"

"No, not at all. She's been screaming mad this entire time," Oz giggled, twirling a lock of his neon green hair around a finger. "She is soooo mad at you. I feel sorry for the kid they stuck with her, really. She is not very nice, no."

They lapsed into silence, Jet Star trying in vain to fix his hair over the bandages as Oz stared at his wound, burning with curiosity.

Kobra Kid was fidgeting uncomfortably, wondering if he'd actually made a good call asking for Lightning to be left here. He figured it had been, better Cyanide than her, right? That wasn't a very positive mindset but it was true, right? She'd still be livid either way. Kid shook his head, realizing how hysterical Lightning would probably be if she saw her brother before he was patched up. Especially if Poison was in the room.

"..Dang it. Okay, uhh.." Kid knelt in front of Little Girl, smiling sheepishly at her. "I'm going to go talk to Lightning, okay? Will you stay here with Jet please?"

Little Girl looked from Oz to Jet Star, then nodded. Kid gave her a quick hug, straightened, and started away. "I'm going to go pacify Lightning before she kills someone."

Jet Star chuckled. "I'd hurry, in that case."

Kobra Kid broke into a sprint.

* * *

The tableau was perfect. Lightning Storm stood in the hallway, caught mid head scratch, staring blankly at Party Poison and Fun Ghoul who were frozen in the act of lying her unconscious brother down on the couch and staring back as Twinsanity stood in the corner looking confused and sleepy after being kicked off the couch.

Lightning had just woken up herself because of the ruckus, roused from her slumber by a lot of thumping and whispered cursing and Twinsanity screeching something at Cordus.

It took her a moment to figure out what was going on, to register that her brother was hurt and that the Killjoys were back. The four stood frozen in place in the dark for about a minute. And then the screaming started.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK POISON."

"Okay, you need to keep calm-" The Killjoy leader began, but he was cut off, as he had expected.

"YOU WANT ME TO KEEP FUCKING_ CALM_? WHAT HAPPENED?!" Lightning started forward.

"He got shot in the leg," Ghoul said softly, holding his hands out to stop her, placating. It did next to nothing to pacify her, but she did stop in her tracks, tugging her fingers through her hair anxiously.

"Three times," Poison added nonchalantly, and Ghoul flinched beside him, backing away slightly, knowing that was quite possibly the worst thing he could have told her.

"...Three times."

"Three times," Poison confirmed with a nod, despite Ghoul's frantic arm waving and shushing. "Three times in the leg. And uh... Once in the chest, I think? There was a lot of blood. It's not lethal though, it'll just hurt like a bitch for a while. I think. I don't fucking know, Jet's the one who's good at this stuff."

"And you let this happen?"

"Not a lot I could do, honey," Poison said coldly, eyes narrowing. "I was kind of preoccupied. You know. Being unconscious. Kid had to drag me out of there, it was so bad. Now are you going to stand there screaming some more or can we try to fix him up?"

Lightning opened her mouth to scream some more, but hesitated grudgingly. There would be time for screaming later, right? She should let them do their thing for now, even if she knew Poison would be feeling smug about it.

Poison got to work doing what he could to fix up Cyanide's leg right away without another word. Ghoul seemed a bit torn between helping him and reassuring Lightning, who was gnawing on her bottom lip to hold back the urge to wring Poison's neck.

"It was a tough run," Ghoul offered as he turned to help Poison pull Cyanide's shirt up gingerly. Her brother had a lovely scorched hole in his chest, the fabric of his shirt half melted into the wound and crusted with blood.

Lightning gasped. It was bad; she could see it was bad. The sight of it stuck in her mind and it was horrible. Killjoys got hit sometimes, sure. It came with the job. This was usually met with pained smiles and a lot of joking. Not now.

Because her brother was unconscious and her teammates looked grim. That was never a good sign. Her room smelled like blood, and Lightning felt sick. Sick and utterly helpless. She wanted nothing more than to get out of there, but she wanted to know that Cyanide was safe.

Kobra Kid came in then, and Lightning seemed to remember her anger when he tried to remove her from the area.

He picked her up around the waist as she kicked and screamed, and carried her back to her room, slamming the door behind them, blocking it with his body. He set her down and she started screaming at him again, trying to shove him out of the way.

"It's okay! It's okay, Jet will be here soon. Cyanide will be fine!"

"YOU LEFT ME BEHIND!" Lightning yelled, and smacked her hands against his chest. Hard. Kid caught his breath, wincing. He was hurt badly enough already! The assault did not relent though. "I COULD HAVE BEEN WATCHING HIM AND YOU LEFT ME HERE!"

"Ow. Look it was a r-_ow_- really tough run- _ow_. None of us got-_ow_- out of that unscathed! Look-" Kobra Kid grabbed Lightning's wrists in attempt to pacify her, even just a little bit, but she started struggling away. He held on tight though, pinning her arms to her sides. The thought of being bludgeoned again wasn't overly appealing. "Lightning-"

"You'd think it would help to have more people around if it was as tough as you say, wouldn't you? What happened to safety in numbers?" Already Lightning was losing her fight, the need for physical struggle waning and vanishing completely. She knew trying to overpower him wouldn't work anyways.

"Look it was a really tough run and I didn't want-"

"Oh, there it is. Why is that your decision? My brother could have died. What on God's green Earth gives you the right to leave me behind?"

Kobra Kid opened his mouth to respond, then decided against it, frowning because she wasn't yelling anymore. Lightning looked small and hurt and her anger had faded, and he'd much prefer the yelling at this point. At least he was used to that. He'd never actually seen her genuinely upset about anything. Then again, she'd never been left here before, and nobody had ever been hit this bad.

"Nobody asks you to stay while Poison's out risking his life. You're out there with him all the time, keeping him safe."

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage. Anger, he could deal with. Sadness made his mind slow, her expression made him feel incredibly guilty and uncomfortably hot.

"Yeah? Fuck you."

"Are you crying?"

"Fuck you."

"Lightning..." They stood in silence in the stifling hot room as Lightning stared at her feet, sniffling quietly. Kid had absolutely zero experience with emotional women and no idea what to do to salvage the situation. "He'll be fine..."

"Yeah? Well." Lightning crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight. He wished he could see her expression properly in the dark, because she was being awfully quiet. Was she actually crying? He wished he could tell. "You gonna let me go see Cyanide, or do you have to run that by Poison first?"

"Okay, look." Kobra Kid grabbed Lightning's shoulders, losing half his resolve when she glared daggers at him. He steeled his nerves, determined to get through at least one confrontation with Lightning without bending under the pressure. He could do this."I was being selfish and paranoid, and I'm sorry."

"What the fuck does you being selfish have to d-"

"I was just worried. Okay? This run was really dangerous and I'm sorry, but I don't regret keeping you here. Heck, I didn't even want to bring Cyanide. But I knew it was the only way Poison would agree with me. There was no way we could have gone just the four of us..." Kid's grip on her shoulders tightened a bit. Lightning was utterly confused, what was this? An apology? Some sort of confession?

He cleared his throat and kept going. "I know you've been sitting here worried sick since we left, and I know you probably want to smash my head through the wall still, and I don't care if you're actually listening to me right now or not, but I'm glad I did it. Because you're not hurt. I wasn't trying to make you mad, and I wasn't trying to spite you. I just didn't want you to get hurt, and this was the only way to keep that from happening."

Lightning stared at him for a good minute, taking that in. How should she take that? An apology or some sort of confession? Apology. Apology of course. It wasn't as if...

"Kid, you don't l-"

Twinsanity came in before she could finish her response, nearly hitting Kid with the door. "The weird half-dead boy on the couch is going to be okay," he announced.

"Okay, thanks. Can you leave now? Lightning asked impatiently, and Twinsanity blinked at her. She was still staring at Kobra Kid, who had let go of her, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

"You're not gonna go see him?" Twinsanity wondered.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something-"

"Tell them to move him in here so I can sleep. Also Cordus says get over your sexual frustration and go see your brother. Bros before hoes. Except I don't think Kobra Kid is a ho, that's what Cordus said," Twinsanity went on and on as he left the room, getting into an argument with Cordus in the middle of the hallway.

The awkward silence that followed was total, and it didn't end until Twinsanity could no longer be heard. "Yeah, I'm gonna go... Yeah." Kid headed out of the room before Lightning could stop him. She hadn't seen his face properly in the darkness, but he had seemed quite uncomfortable. What about, though? Stuff like that didn't usually bother him. Not like they hadn't been teased before.

Though, it was always embarrassing to get teased by somebody who was clinically insane. Lightning shrugged, and made a mental note to throttle Twinsanity later, and maybe apologize to Poison in the morning. She figured it would be best to try and get some sleep. They'd have a lot to deal with in the morning, politics and schedules and intelligence, all the boring paperwork she hated. Oh well. At least her friends were back.

* * *

One room in the Apartments, one on the bottom floor, was where meetings were held. It was really just a room with a bunch of long tables shoved together in the centre, with a large map of the Battery City and the Zones scattered with the Monopoly pieces they used to make plans.

This room was usually one of the busiest places in the Apartments, especially when a Division returned. Now it was packed with Killjoys hunched over the map. Oz, Party Poison and Five-Leaf Clover stood at the head of the table, attempting to control the chaos.

"They've upped the security around Battery City. Extended into Zone One and everything," Poison said, pointing to the large white circle with that disturbing black smiley face none of them could stand that represented Battery City on the map. "It'll be impossible to get in there without some serious casualties or months of planning."

"Months of planning? We can do that, can't we?" Oz scanned the map curiously, gaze locked on the little metal pieces scattered about. He traced the green ring of Zone Four with a finger, smiling. "We have the means."

"I think he means we can't just take random supply runs through anymore," Clover muttered, not looking up from the map. "If we were going to try and get in, it would have to be for a very good reason. Even then, we'd have to be pretty careful about it. The place is swarming. How many people do we have now? A hundred? Two hundred? Half of 'em aren't even in their right minds, I should add."

"Three-hundred and twenty four, including the people on the inside," Lightning put in from across the table. She reached out and grabbed the little metal hat of the First Division and placed it back on the Apartments mark. "Half of them have never fired a gun in their life. We got people marching into this with shovels and baseball bats for weapons, and no training. Send them in there and it s a bloodbath."

"Okay then." Poison straightened, tapping hands on the table. "How many people do we have who know what they're doing?

"About sixty with conventional weapons. Us in this room and thirty other Killjoys. Maybe less, now. The Sixth Division's been missing for a while," Clover said, pointing to the little silver dog that represented the Sixth Division, standing right in the middle of Zone Three.

"Well shit." The room had gone awfully quiet, with only Molotov Cocktail and Iron Man murmuring to each other beside Lightning, who seemed to be looking for something to say.

"Uhh... Okay. No, no that's fine, we can work with this..." Party Poison raked a hand through his bright red hair. "We'll be fine. We know what we're doing."

"We're not really fine, Poison. We need to figure this out," Lightning said, and he sighed, irritated. Always the first to question him. No matter. He wasn't about to start an argument in the middle of a meeting. It was unprofessional.

"I'm open to ideas, Lightning Storm." His statement must have seemed a little bit too cynical, because the peanut gallery intervened.

"Don't start you two," Kobra Kid warned. He was across the room, sitting on the floor with Little Girl. Snickers erupted around them and Lightning rolled her eyes.

"Wasn't going to. Look, we really_ do_ need to figure this out. They're fanning out into the Zones now. Now, we're not in any danger here at the Apartments, not yet. But we could lose some of our strongholds in the Zones nearest to the city if we're not careful. We kind of need the Diner, but the Second Division is almost always there, so it's got at least some protection. It's the only think keeping us in constant contact, so we kind of need to keep it."

A murmur of agreement. Poison leaned over the map and tapped the bright pink dot in Zone Three, outside Battery City. "We're kind of close as it is, but if they keep advancing..."

"So then? We launch an offensive," Oz said, jamming his fingers in his mouth. He tapped the little metal thimble of the Second Division with his other hand, taking the pieces from the other Divisions and lining them up beside it on the blue stretch. "Better Living is fast to respond to calls when there's just three or four of them to send, but when it comes to mass, they're not so good, no. It'll take them time to get there in mass, and even longer to figure out it's a stronghold. We're good at acting, after all." He started giggling. Everyone was paying attention to him now.

"How are we supposed to launch an offensive?" Clover laughed. He gestured at all the little green plastic army men clustered together in Battery City. The Draculoids and the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W divisions. "We have no fire power. They have an army of mindless zombies and we have thirty Killjoys."

"That's why we have to be very careful," Oz whispered, bursting into silent giggles again. "We don't have to go in all guns blazing, contrary to your belief Clover." Oz covered all the little metal pieces under his palm, sliding them across the colourful Zones into the black of Battery City.

"Go in undercover? Is that even possible?" Poison frowned, considering. A murmur had gone up in the room. It wasn't like this hadn't been suggested before. The option was rather obvious. They just had no way to do it, no possible way to pull this off. The Killjoys weren't like the people in Battery City, not by appearance or personality. They had free will.

"When you don't have your face all over the walls of the buildings in Battery City, it is possible, yes." Oz picked up the silver hat of the First Division from the line of pieces and placed it down back at the big red X of the Apartments.

"You. You are all notorious. You are no use undercover. Korse would weed you out in seconds, and where would we be then?"

"You know for a crazy guy you kind of know what you're talking about," Lightning muttered, picking up the hat, turning it over in her fingers as she continued. "But what do we do while you're all infiltrating enemy lines? Sit around and twiddle our thumbs?"

"You make a ruckus," Molotov Cocktail said, tired of being forgotten. All the other Killjoys in the room had gone quiet and were listening intently. "You let them see you, raise hell, start fires. Direct the attention away from us while we work our way in."

Poison looked around him, somewhat impressed by the progress they'd already made. "Yeah? Well obviously this is going to take a lot of planning, no need to jump the gun. But I think you've got something here."

This prompted a grin from Oz, and a sputter from Clover. "B-but the First Division is the best group of fighters we have!" He protested.

"The First Division is mandatory to the Killjoy's success. We can't afford to lose them," Oz said, raising a hand against Poison's protest. He looked deadly serious and for once, in his right mind. "And please don't say that we're all equal here. We're not. I'm fully aware that all of you hate me, and my group. Which is why, if we end up doing this, I want to be up front." The other Thirds around the room seemed to be in agreement.

Everyone was staring at them.

"Well that's a pretty big thing to deal with for just today, and to be honest I have a headache," Poison sighed, rubbing his temples. "This whole thing is crazy. We'll keep strategizing, but I think that's all I can handle for today, I don't know about you guys."

"I'm done too, yes." Oz bobbed his head, taking his fingers from his mouth. Two of them were bleeding because he had bitten them so hard. In a matter of seconds, he was back to his hunch shouldered, wild eyed self, giggling softly as he shuffled away from the table.

"Dismissed then?" Clover muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"Dismissed," said Party Poison.


	4. Wherein a Killjoy is Recruited

His name was Casca. Just Casca, nothing else, his second and third name had been omitted long ago, forgotten by him so he could focus. His name was Casca, and he was on the inside.

Yes, he was living the high life in the heart of Battery City. It was annoying being on the inside, though, and he wanted out of it.

This lifestyle wasn't glorious, living in a run-down building with three other people. Three other people who were always either desperately happy or practically suicidal, depending on how many drugs they had left that day. Three people he practically never bothered with the names of. People who couldn't even take care of themselves, never mind the house they lived in.

Casca wished he could have been put in a post with a nice family, preferably around the rim of the city where the drug-zombie situation was much better. He'd like a family who could actually be bothered to shower every once in a while, or think freely, one with a stay-at-home mom and a 9-5 working dad and a couple of kids. Generic happy family material.

Casca's current roommates, a sad little boy, a delinquent young man, and an grouchy older guy, were not that, and were entirely incapable of that. With the exception of the kid, but even he was getting pretty bad. Mindless zombies, all of them, minds solely fixated on when they could get their next fix of the drugs that ran their lives.

And the conditions? Pah. Casca hardly ever left his room, which he kept meticulously clean to the best of his abilities. Even so, the white paint was peeling, and the ugly blue carpets were stained with blood and vomit, and other things he didn't even want to think about. There was mold on the ceiling, and frayed wires that had once belonged to something up there hanging down ominously. There were mice and bugs, but he couldn't help any of that.

Casca had nothing but a small cardboard box full of things from his old life, and a stack of books in his closet that he kept padlocked. The closet was clean, rendered practically airtight with the security Casca kept on it. His Killjoy jacket was in there too, with a bottle of violet hair dye he hadn't been allowed to touch since coming into the city. He missed colour a lot, and spent a lot of time just staring into his closet, feeling lost.

The rest of the house was an absolute wreck that he never bothered with, usually containing a roommate or two passed out on the floor in a pool of some bodily fluid or another and usually dressed in less clothing than was acceptable. Bottles covered nearly every surface of the house. Bright orange prescription bottles with the _Better Living_ smiley face on them, glass bottles that had once held alcohol. But Casca supposed this is what happened when you accepted Better Living into your life as his roommates had, as he refused to.

He was not like them, that much was painfully obvious. Casca had flaws. The people around him looked perfect, even if they were pale and gaunt and lifeless, they were perfect because of the drugs their bodies became dependent on. Perfect and broken. Casca's nose was a little too crooked, his black eyes too wide, his body too thin. Skin too dark. He was different, and that was painfully obvious. And it got him into trouble a lot, but at least his mental state was intact and he didn't depend on pretty coloured pills to live.

At the time, Casca was in a bit of a bind. One of his house-mates had found his ray gun, which he usually kept tucked under his mattress. He had figured it was safe, since nobody came into his room anyway. He hadn't thought that anyone would come in looking for drugs, since they usually had enough, and he never took an addict's desperation into account.

Now, it was kill the kid or try to recruit him. The poor boy across the room from Casca was hardly a threat, the twig-thin wraith of a child with sunken hazel eyes and scars on his arms, jittering from withdrawal already. It had only been about four hours since their drugs ran out, and the kid was already craving them. There was no life in him at all. His hair was dull and black, almost grey, without any sort of sheen. His skin was pale. Flawless, but lifeless. _Like a vampire's,_ Casca thought. He was only a kid, and this is what had happened to him. That broke Casca's heart something fierce.

The boy was sitting on Casca's stained mattress on the floor with the purple and white ray gun shaking in his hands as the older boy barred the door with his person to keep him in, and everyone else out. Casca was pretty sure the other two housemates had gone on a supplies run, but he couldn't take any chances. This blunder could get him killed, or worse.

He'd heard the stories of Killjoys who got caught. Nobody who left the heart of Battery City alive was ever the same again. He pushed outside distractions from his mind and focused on the menace at hand, the menace being this sick-looking kid with a gun.

The boy's name had been forgotten long ago, behind the fog the drugs always left behind after a while, but Casca called him Pax because that meant peace, and he was harmless. Or had been harmless. Casca wasn't sure what he was anymore.

Pax looked shell shocked, his hazel eyes wide and scared. "You're one of them, aren't you?" He whimpered, and his voice quavered almost as bad as he did. He flinched, holding up the gun higher when Casca moved even slightly.

_God bless him_, Casca thought. _He's not even holding the gun properly_. Pax's fingers were nowhere near the trigger, all wrapped around the grip in a white-knuckle vice.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not a bad person," Casca said quietly. He approached slowly with his hands out in an attempt to placate the terrified kid. "I won't hurt you, not if you put the gun down. I won't have to hurt you if you put the gun down."

"Good guys never hurt anyone who's done nothing wrong," Pax said, but he dropped the gun to the floor, backing up against the wall and hugging his knees. He was terrified. It made Casca feel bad, having to pick up the gun and point it at him. This was his life at stake, he had to remind himself. If he didn't handle the situation properly, he could die. Both of them could die.

"Look, kid. I'm a good guy, okay? But you weren't supposed to find out about this."

"I-I won't tell anyone! Please don't kill me!" Pax cowered, his voice cracking. Casca felt really awful now, and dropped the gun. It hit the carpet with a dull thud that made Pax flinch and yell.

"I'm not going to kill you Pax, but I need you to do something for me. I can help you, but you'll have to help me as well." Casca crouched in front of the frightened boy, who peeked up at him. He looked pretty creepy in the dull light, Casca had to admit. But this wasn't some monster or corrupt bad guy, this was a kid. And kids Casca could more or less deal with. They could be changed.

"It's nothing bad is it? Please don't make me do anything bad, Mister, I'm good I swear!"

"Those drugs you take, Pax-"

"It's not my fault! It's not my fault I s-swear!" Pax was crying now, digging his fingers into his back. Casca pried his hands off before he dug in hard enough to leave a mark. "I d-didn't want to be like th-this! I never wanted to be like this! I wanted to be like y-you!"

"Shhh..." Casca patted the sobbing boy's head awkwardly, unsure of what else to do. "No, no, it's okay, I can help you. I can fix you-"

"Y-you can..?"

The look Pax was giving Casca gave the man pause. Did he want this responsibility? Was it worth it? He couldn't just leave a kid like this... Casca nodded slowly, sealing his fate. "I can help you become like me, but to do that you can't take the drugs. Killjoys are not supposed to take the drugs. Okay?"

Pax stared at Casca for a long time, before nodding. He looked a bit woozy. This was a lot to take in, and Casca wished he could leave the poor kid out of this. "It'll be difficult, Pax."

"I don't want to be like this," Pax replied shakily, looking down at his trembling hands.

"Are you sure? Being like me isn't much better."

"I'm tired of being like this. Please help me. Please help me Casca..." The kid reached out for him, and Casca hesitated before giving him the hug he wanted. This was weird. He wasn't close to Pax or anything, he never had been, probably never would have been. That would be stupid, to get to know the pathetic zombies you were being forced to live with. Now he just felt sorry for him, and really wanted to help him.

"I'll help you then, kid. Welcome to the Killjoy life."

* * *

**_Hey. Anyone home? _**

"WHAT'S THAT?!" Pax screamed, clinging tight to Casca's legs, the closest part of the man to him, while Casca jumped. He'd been asleep with the shaky kid curled up at the foot of his bed.

**_Helloooo? Come on man. You haven't checked in in a week- shit, Kid, I know. He's fine. This guy's good, he wouldn't get caught. Ow- STOP HITTING ME OKAY?_**

"No, no it's okay Pax. It's the radio," Casca said, calming the boy by smoothing down his hair and looking him in the eye. Why did Party Poison have to be so loud? It was always annoying when he clocked in at random. Dangerous too.

Casca scrambled out of bed once Pax stopped hyperventilating and let go of him, trailing sheets with him, to get to the radio sitting in the far corner of the room. It was buried under empty plastic bottle to discourage roommates who wandered in, since radios were always associated with music and music was bad. Music represented individuality, and Better Living hated that. So radios were pretty much illegal.

Casca plugged in his headset, pulling it over his ears as Pax scooted over, leaning in to hear as well. Too close for comfort, his face nearly pressed against Casca's. Casca hated contact, but the boy was awestruck, so he allowed it this time.

**_ Are you there? Shit, maybe I should be quiet._**

"Dead Pegasus. I'm here," Casca said. There was a sigh of relief on the other side.

**_Took you long enough. Seriously, keep up with your reports, Killjoy. _**

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I've been on lockdown for a while. Wells got caught, they've been watching the street like crazy ever since."

**_Wells? Shit, we lost Wells? Wells was one of the best too... Uhh... Nobody else?_**

"Just Wells, Casca mumbled, leaning away from Pax. The kid didn't smell too good, and Casca didn't want to deal with that.

Pax leaned back a bit, looking crestfallen. Casca gave him a helpless look, then shook his head, focusing on Poison again.

_**Just Wells, right. Just Wells. Uh... Okay, what's your status?**_

"Security's crazy now, but the plan worked. Painkillers work with the blood scans. They're not addicting, but they can get you kind of loopy in excess, which is how you gotta take em."

"Some forms of the alt-reality pills work too," Pax put in, causing silence on the other end as Casca shushed him frantically, pressing a finger to the boy's thin lips. Pax looked at him, confused. Was he supposed to be quiet? Casca hadn't asked him to.

**_What is that? _**

"New guy," Casca muttered, giving the younger a death glare that he returned with a helpless look of his own.

**_How old is he?_**

"Ten," Pax said quietly. There was more silence, and the boy squirmed, looking uneasily at the radio, as if Party Poison could see him through the device. "Is that a problem? Do I have to be older to be a Killjoy?"

"Shh," Casca muttered, putting his arm around the panicking boy. "If I recall correctly, Poison, the girl on your team is seven. So."

**_..Touche. Whatever, I guess. Keep him out of trouble, if you'd please. Right, well. Anything else you want to give us? _**

There was a moment of loud static before Casca replied. "Uh... Well, they're so busy with the bridge directly into the city they've mostly forgotten about the west side. If you're trying to pull off what I think you are, send a small group there first. Preferably an... Expendable group, if you can."

**_Nobody's expendable, Casca. We're people, not chess pieces. No, we can send the Third Division. Half of them are users anyway, we'll just give the Leader the painkillers. Will you be there? _**

Casca hesitated. He had wanted to address the fact that they _were_ chess pieces. Little metal figures on a paper map to move around and sacrifice freely for the greater good. Meaningless little lives to fall inevitably into Better Living's clutches, to be corrupted and drained of anything innocent like Pax had been.

Ten years old and hooked on drugs he had no need for. It was depressing. Casca said nothing of it though, swallowing his bitterness. "Pax and me will scan the area before they show up, maybe meet them in Zone One? It's pretty hot there, but Pax is chipped and I'll be a bit dopey, so. How much of the painkillers do you have?"

**_Not nearly enough. I'll tell the Third Division its a drug run they're going on. They'll just happen by you. _**

"No colours, got it? They'll weed anyone with colours out in seconds."

**_ Got it. Poison out. _**

There was a click, and Casca looked over at Pax as he removed the headset. The boy was grinning, bouncing up and down on the mattress. "That was so cool," he crooned, so perfectly content that he seemed to have forgotten he had an addiction, showing no signs of shaking yet.

"Yeah," Casca said with a smirk as he buried his precious radio under the mountain of bottles that had held those awful drugs. He felt much better now. He was actually helping someone, and that felt amazing.

* * *

He didn't remember falling asleep, but Casca woke up feeling awful, lying on his back on his mattress. He was sweltering hot and drenched in sweat, his clothes and his hair plastered to his skin. He noticed that the window was open, curtains thrown open, sunlight pouring through. The room was hazy with heat and he hated it, pulling his shirt off without a second thought.

His mind was sluggish and slow, making him act on impulse. Casca liked to keep covered up because he hated his own body, but he promised himself he wouldn't have to look at himself, that he had to deal with this heat, and got up anyways, even though his entire being was screaming for him to put his head back down on the pillow and sleep. There was no way he could do that. He felt restless and out of place. Something was up.

Casca looked around the too bright room, noticing the lock sitting at the bottom of his opened closet door, flung wide open. His books were scattered over the floor, his jacket painfully obvious and visible. His other stuff remained untouched.

But the dye was missing.

Casca bolted to his feet, pelting into the hallway screaming. He nearly tripped over one of his roommates in the hall, staggering over the unconscious old man and racing to the bathroom where Pax was sitting, drenched in violet and giggling.

The boy's drab hair was a brilliant hue of purple now, his fingers stained with the stuff, flecks of it on his face and staining his neck, all over his dirty white shirt and the filthy towel draped across his shoulders. He'd used half the bottle, but done a fairly good job at it. He brightened visibly when Casca came in, slamming and locking the door behind him. He didn't sense the older's urgency. He was far too happy for that.

"Look! I'm a Killjoy!"

"Pax what did you do?! UGH. This is bad, this is so bad..." Casca caught sight of the two of them in the grimy bathroom mirror, immediately crossing his skinny arms over his chest following the sudden surge of shame and frowning at the boy on the floor with the bottle of dye wedged between his knees.

"What's so bad about it? I look fabulous." Pax played with his hair, smiling prettily and batting his eyelashes.

"YOU CAN'T HAVE COLOUR ON YOU IN BATTERY CITY!" Casca slapped his hands over his mouth, having forgotten about the seemingly unconscious person outside the door. He reminded himself he shouldn't be yelling at a kid anyways, he didn't know any better.

Pax's face was frozen in fear now, and Casca felt the need to change it. He knelt next to the boy, expression softening. "Pax, why did you go through my closet? You know I don't like people in there."

"I just wanted to know more about Killjoys, I'm sorry..."

"You realize you can't have your hair like that when we go outside, right? We'll get sent to jail if people know we're Killjoys! We have to be more careful from now on, okay?"

The young boy nodded, his pretty hazel eyes wide. He looked so innocent then, when Casca looked past the drug-induced perfection and the general sickness about him that came with being a user. Innocent and childish. Pax was only a kid; it was hard to remember that sometimes. He looked sharper now, more focused while off the drugs, even if he was jittery and loud and woke up screaming because of nightmares. He had been clean for even a few hours, and that made Casca pretty happy.

"Now, I need you to listen, because this is important. We're going to go on a walk. Some other Killjoys are coming to see us soon, and we have to make sure the coast is clear for them. Do you understand?"

"Make sure the coast is clear?"

"Yes, make sure there are no Draculoids around. You're going to have to put on a hat or something, that look's not working for you. I like it, but Better Living won't." Casca smiled slightly, and ruffled the younger boy's still-damp hair. It left faint traces of dye on his fingers, and made him think of all the times he'd done this himself.

"So? Should we get up and go?"

Pax grinned and nodded, excited to start being a Killjoy.


	5. Wherein a Bad Habit is Formed

"What're you doing," Molotov Cocktail muttered, glaring hard at the white haired boy cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

Ectoplasm just smiled, not looking up from his ratty sketchbook. They were sitting in the main room of the apartment Molotov had to himself (When Ectoplasm wasn't inviting himself over), Molotov in a dusty chair by the balcony window trying to read while Ectoplasm sat on the carpet scribbling away.

"I'm drawing you, Molly," was the boy's curt reply.

"That's not okay with me," the elder growled, feeling ridiculously self-conscious about the project. The younger replied with nothing more than a shrug, and didn't make any attempt to stop.

"I don't care," was all he said, and that was that.

Ectoplasm had been getting up at about the same time as Molotov Cocktail now for a while, then following him around almost the entire day, and it was incredibly irritating. Molotov had almost gotten used to having the annoyance around near-constantly. Ectoplasm was really quiet at least, he'd always been really quiet, especially around people he didn't know. At least he knew Molotov quite well, and felt comfortable around him.

Where strangers were concerned, Ectoplasm stopped talking entirely and stuck like a burr to someone's side, letting them do the talking or responding wide-eyed with one word answers. More and more, this someone became Molotov, and he was getting used to it.

Sometimes Ectoplasm was quiet with his own squad, mostly with Clover and Blaster Shell. Liberation had written it off as anxiety or something, it probably was that, but Molotov didn't blame Ectoplasm's perceived issues for the silence when they were at the Apartments. With all the freaks around here, he would be perfectly happy hiding his head in the sand and never talking to anyone too.

The kid used him as a shield, though, that was much less enjoyable. Not just against social situations (that much Molotov didn't mind, he was good at getting people to go away), but also to get away from his brother, and tension between the older Killjoy and Toxic Liberation was high as it had ever been. Molotov couldn't tell if his company was being enjoyed, or if Ectoplasm was using him as some weird mechanism to get back at his brother for something, cowering behind him in instances of social interaction. He didn't really care. Or maybe he did. But that didn't matter.

He didn't want to be drawn. He thought himself FAR too ugly for that.

"Piss off, would ya?"

"Molly, don't tell me you're drunk already." Ectoplasm shook his head, making a_ tsk_ sound as he focused on his drawing. Drunk _already?_ It wasn't already. The sun was setting at this point, it had been long enough.

Molotov grunted at him, trying to get back into his book. The words were a bit blurry though, the black and white on the page melding together annoyingly. Whatever, he felt good, that was all that mattered. He tossed the book down on the floor, taking another long swig, grimacing as the fiery liquid slid down his throat.

"Don't make weird faces," Ectoplasm snapped. He was taking this seriously. Molotov was not. The older's face settled into a scowl, irritating Ectoplasm a little bit. "Molly could you sy-"

"I'm not a fucking model," Molotov snarled, tossing his empty flask down too. He still felt on edge and he had no idea why. The alcohol should have dealt with that by now.

It was probably the thought of those Third Division loons running around Battery City- why had Party Poison given them the mission? They'd get caught before the day was done, Molotov was sure of it. Then they'd crack under minimal pressure or the promise of pills and send Better Living after them all. That was it. The jig was up, basically. What the fuck had Poison been thinking? He was such a good leader, what was with this terrible call?

Molotov sighed heavily, tugging a hand through his mangled black hair. "Shouldn't you go back before your brother pitches a fit?"

"I don't give a fuck what he wants," Ectoplasm replied with a curt smile, looking back at Molotov. The lighting was amazing in here, so he liked drawing here a lot. And he liked drawing Molotov Cocktail because of his sharp angles and comically dour expressions. You could tell he was never truly mad, he was just grumpy, with lines between his thick eyebrows, and lines from frowning etched deep in his skin. Dark ringed brown eyes from lack of sleep; he seemed drowsy half the time.

He had a permanent scowl that made him look slightly intimidating, dark scraggly hair he kept tied back most of the time, hidden under a bandanna, and the start of a beard that made him look older than he should, not 27 at all. He looked less menacing with the halo of light shrouding his head from the window, at least, Ectoplasm liked that.

It didn't improve Molotov's mood any though. "Watch your fucking language, kid. And he probably thinks you keep coming in here for a reason, you know. 'Specially since you like... never leave me alone."

"If you're implying that Liberation might think we re having sex when I'm here, I'm fine with that. Wouldn't mind it, actually," Ectoplasm said with a shrug, totally focused on his drawing now, only looking up every so often. Molotov was utterly baffled, gaping like a fish out of water.

"You're not even legal."

"Neither are you," Ectoplasm said curtly, not missing a beat. "We're fugitives. Everything about us is illegal."

He did have a point. "Get your head checked, kid," Molotov muttered, rubbing his eyes. This whole tirade was exhausting, and he just wanted Ectoplasm to leave so he could get drunk and pass out. He wasn't sure why he was so reluctant to do that with the kid around, not like there was a difference. Maybe he didn't want to corrupt him? Well, anyone who wasn't corrupted already was incorruptible, so it wasn't like it mattered, but still...

Jesus, why was he even here in the first place?

"Are you almost done?" Molotov growled, and Ectoplasm laughed his weird laugh, being way to loud.

"Yeah, I got shooting lessons with Clover in like, fifteen minutes."

"Finally out of his goddamn room, is he? He really doesn't like those Third Division freaks, does he?"

"Does anyone? They're supposed to be heading out tonight, I bet that's good. Drug run, that's what Poison said. I don't actually think he'd send them in for drugs though, it just sounds better to them that way."

Molotov Cocktail grunted, waving a hand. He was too tired for this, getting to his feet and stretching, brushing dust off his jeans. "Go see Clover, kid, I'm going to sleep."

"You don't want to see what I drew?" Ectoplasm was watching him curiously, and the attention just made the other man more irritated, like he was a rare specimen and his every move had to be recorded. That's what being around Ectoplasm felt like. He was tempted to ask the kid to treat him more like a human being, and not a sort of lesser god.

"I know what I look like."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Ectoplasm flipped his sketchbook closed, tucking his pencil behind his ear. "Molly, you of all people should have a better self-esteem."

The kid was annoying.

But he was kind of right.

* * *

"Any time you want to hit the target, go right ahead, Lightning Storm." Party Poison was pacing behind her, grinning smugly with his hands clasped behind his back like some sort of Drill Sergeant.

Lightning was not in the mood for his antics. It was stifling hot outside, even if it was cooling considerably as the sun continued its descent under the horizon. She was hot and sticky and frustrated, having not managed to hit the bull's eye on her target.

When her next shot ended in failure and Poison laughed, Lightning whirled on him, looking as deadly as the force of nature she took her name from.

"Poison if you don't shut the fuck up I will give up on the target and start trying to get _you_ in the head." She raised her gun threateningly.

"Pipe the fuck down, Princess." He mirrored her movements-

"Ladies, ladies, you're both beautiful," Ghoul interjected, pushing them apart gently. He put his hand over Poison's face to stop the stare down that ensued between the two rivals, shoving the taller man back. He did the same to Lightning when she looked like she'd start arguing, just for the sake of arguing. "It's getting dark now, you know. You two should be focusing."

"Focusing on what, honey? Clover and that kid left. Jet gave up half an hour ago, he's probably fast asleep at a table somewhere fretting about his pretty face- I swear to god Kid if I catch you staring at Lightning's ass one more time-"

"POISON SHUT UP."

"There's pills you can take for ADD, maybe the Third Division will bring some back for you," Ghoul sighed, lining up the target again. It was getting quite dark now, so his aim was a bit off. He hit the ring above the bull's eye. That was okay, the shot would still be fatal. Poison hugged Ghoul from behind, leaning down and putting his chin on the younger's shoulder.

"Wonderful shot, baby," he said, smirking.

"Can you be serious for five fucking minutes or are you in one of your gay moods". Ghoul shoved Poison's face away when the taller started trying to kiss him, but Poison didn't back off.

"Focus is lost," Lightning announced, clapping her hands. She watched Ghoul and Poison topple over, wrestling around on the ground. _Men_.

Those two never got anything done when they were together. It was terrible. Lightning sighed and returned to her own target, deciding to get a bit more practice done before the sun set fully.

Her aim was worse off than Ghoul's had been. She kept hitting points in the Draculoid-shaped target where it would bleed, but not be fatal. That was okay, but she was getting frustrated quickly.

Right before giving up, she growled, holding down the trigger, charging it up- firing a white-hot electric current at the target that hit a few centimeters above the bull's eye, burning right through the Drac's head.

"Jesus, Lightning..." Kid scratched the back of his neck, staring at the hole through the target. That was a bit scary. She was a bit scary, with the wild grin on her face.

"Fuck yeah," she said, smiling as she returned her gun to its holster, buckling it in. "How do you like that, eh?" There was barely any light left to go off, so she and Kid decided to call it a day, and picked their way back to the Warehouse while Poison and Ghoul picked themselves up, both in much better moods now.

"Were you actually staring at my a-"

"Nope."

Silence. Topic change.

"Do you think those freaks will be gone by the time we get back?" Lightning slipped off her jacket, toying with her hair, trying to get it of the back of her neck. It was a terrible feeling.

"Doubt it," Kid muttered, staring pointedly at the ground. There was hardly anything scandalous about a girl being in a tank top, but it made him uncomfortable all the same. He cleared his throat and tried to stop chewing on his lip. "Knowing them, they'd drag this out as long as they could manage for dramatic effect."

Sure enough, Oz was waiting with his team by their car in the Warehouse, all his hair tucked up into a white and grey baseball cap. The way little tufts of green poked out around his ears and by his forehead made him look even crazier than usual, if that was possible. At least he looked serious at the moment. They all did, and that was a bit odd, seeing the Third Division looking so professional.

It was weird to see Patchwork Lion out of his grease-stained overalls at all. He was clean-shaven and looking bored beside Iron Man, who seemed way too big and out of place, towering over all of them, dressed all in white. Ruby, however, had made no effort. She would play the part of the Scarecrow's prisoner.

All attention shifted to Kid and Lightning as they walked in. Lightning shifted closer to him subconsciously, her attention sliding to Ruby Shoes. The girl had a weird smile on her ruby red lips, eyebrows raised, suggesting her intent. Shirt too tight, skirt too short... She was staring at Kid.

No.

"Are you guys off soon? You're not going to get there on time at this rate," Lightning said, trying to keep the hardness out of her tone. Ruby shifted her weight from foot to foot, crossing her arms under her chest. Kid was trying very hard not to look at her. She was making him genuinely nervous, and making Lightning kind of mad.

The girl was just bringing the reputation of girl Killjoys around here down.

"Just about to," Oz mumbled, looking from girl to girl, trying to figure out what the sudden tension was. To no avail, he shook his head and his maniac grin returned as he held his hand out. "Well. Good luck, Kobra Kid."

"You're the one who needs it," Kid laughed, shaking Oz's hand. Keep your radio on, Killjoy."

"I don't plan on dying anytime soon," Oz said, getting into the front seat of his banged up car and slamming the door. He sat there for a moment, his grin dying slowly, then looked back at Kid, beckoning him over with a wave of his hand.

The two exchanged hushed back-and-forth, Kid looking back once nervously, spiking Lightning's curiosity, and then it was done. With a wave goodbye, the Third Division was off in a cloud of exhaust and smoke, and everyone was just a little bit happier.

* * *

"Kid." Party Poison grabbed his arm, pulling him aside. It was dark in the hall, and quiet, with nothing but the footsteps of the retreating rest of the group to fill the silence. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"About?" Kobra Kid's heart had skipped a beat and started pounding as he went trough every precaution he'd taken over the past week and a half. Had he slipped up somewhere? Had Poison found out? Little Girl couldn't have...

This wasn't good at all, no. What if Poison _knew?_

"Are you okay?" Poison's voice was soft, he didn't want the others to hear. The unasked question- the true nature of the sentence- hung heavy in the air between them. Kid stood still, refraining from shifting uncomfortably like he felt the need to.

The question had been expected, but it still filled the younger Killjoy with dread. You never wanted to be asked that question. _Are you okay_ meant _how's he gaping wound in your chest? Are you okay _was referring to the recurring night terrors and the psychological trauma you had to endure coming back from Battery City alive. _Are you okay_ meant_ I know how much they meant to you and I'm sorry they're gone._

It meant _you're taking drugs, and I know it. _

"I'm fine. Why?"

"Look at me. Look me in the eyes and say you're okay," Poison said, gripping his younger brother's shoulders tight, his eyes bearing into the younger, making him want to turn and run. Kid fully understood his heavy aversion to the serious topic. If anyone had a reason to hate Better Living's drugs, it was Party Poison. But Kid would rather not have had to go through this right now, not when he had no excuse lined up.

"Poison, I don't even get what you're talking about, I'm fine."

"Mikey, listen, okay?" Kid flinched at the use of his real name, hesitating before looking his brother in the eye and forcing up a smile as the elder continued. "This isn't some sort of game. This is serious, this is your_ life_ you're messing with. Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?" Poison's eyes were way too intense, even if Kid could barely see them, and he was losing his composure. He started tapping the wall behind him to keep himself focused on something that wasn't his desperate brother's pleading olive eyes, looking twice as helpless in the shadows over his face.

"I'm not taking pills, okay? I'm smarter than th- Uh... No, I didn't mean to-"

"No, I know it was stupid of me. It's fine. But I learned from my mistakes, and I'm okay now. Are you?"

Kid sighed heavily. Time to end this, and break out the real names. "Gerard. I'm not taking pills," Kid said, a little too loudly, and his brother put a finger to his lips, shaking his head.

"Touchy subject," Poison whispered, looking behind him. Ghoul and Lightning were shadows standing at the end of the hall, outlined faintly in white-blue light. The two were waiting for them worriedly. They got anxious whenever the Venom Brothers had their one-on-one meetings, and they usually had good reason to.

"Are you s-"

"I'm fine," Kid insisted exuberantly shrugging his brother off with an easy smile. "I mean it, I'm okay."

Poison gave him a final helpless look. Kid could be lying. What would he do if Kid was lying? This wasn't exactly a laughing matter, especially not to him. Not incurable, he was proof of that. But Poison knew what it was like, to be helplessly hooked on those wretched drugs. They worked for a while, until they became a part of you, and that was it.

With nothing left to say, Party Poison clapped his brother on the shoulder, offering a half smile as he started back down the hallway to join the other two.

Kid watched him go, slipping a shaking hand into his pocket to make sure the half-empty orange bottle was still there, feeling absolutely awful.


	6. Wherein Oz is Judged by a Kid

Oz didn't take drugs, but there were always exceptions to anything he did. The exception to this particular rule, was his cigarettes, and one of the white cancer sticks was clamped between his broken teeth as he walked, a glowing amber dot in the dark.

It was really the only thing that could be seen out there at four o'clock in the morning in the ruined side of Battery City. The wrecked side of Zone One that nobody was stupid or stoned enough to navigate. Oz had had just about enough of this.

He was a patient man. Not really as patient as he was scatterbrained, where he'd get distracted before he got irritated, focused on something new. But he was focused now at least, on his assigned task. As he always was when Poison asked him to do something directly. It was an honour to be trusted with Party Poison's orders, and one should always take them seriously

His team seemed to believe otherwise. Or most of them. Scarecrow could be counted on to deliver, of course. He was walking beside Oz, silent and deadly as ever, face still covered by his white mask. He had come prepared, had the proper weapons that a Scarecrow should have, and made sure they were up to date by the last raid they were on. He was set.

Iron Man was also pretty prepared and reliable, decked in his bulky bullet-and-ray-proof armour. It made the already-huge man look like a hulk, the irritation from his gnawing craving for Better Living's marvelous pills serving to make him look downright deadly.

Patchwork Lion trailed behind the behemoth with nothing but a checkered red shirt and overalls for protection, even though Oz had asked him _at least_ seven times to put something proper on. Lion was a coward, who believed firmly in hiding behind his friend Iron Man- who wanted him nowhere near. He was hacking up a storm in the back, the smoke of what was left of a great fire working a number on his already-damaged lungs. Lion didn't complain at least, merely stumbled along holding a crimson-stained cloth to his mouth as he coughed blood.

Ruby though.

Oz couldn't stand her at the best of times, and if she hadn't been such a good shot, Oz would have killed her already. Everything was bothering Ruby at the moment, and she was not afraid to let them know this. She hated her plain clothes, the conserved civilian ensemble she'd been forced into. She hated the way her hair was pinned up under the hat she had to wear to keep the colour of her hair shoes were not her shoes, she hated these shoes, why the fuck should she have to share with that Fourth Division whore? And of course, her shoes weren't even made for walking through the rubble of a ruined wall, really, or sneaking through a city.

Every time Ruby complained about the stark white heels, Iron Man whirled and snapped at her for wearing them and she went quiet for a blessed little while before starting up again, maybe about her nails or her craving for something or other until Oz was teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown.

The city here was awful, he could tell, and they weren't even through the wall yet. Oz could see the lights though, tall and huge and white, beating down on some poor soul who'd gotten himself caught up in some dispute or another, maybe caught up past curfew. Where they were, the houses were sparse, and reduced almost entirely to ruin. Not what they were used to at all.

Oz felt unsafe as he handed his ridiculously enormous sniper rifle off to the Scarecrow so they could get into character, ducking into a dark alley so Scarecrow could tie their wrists together. He dropped his cigarette too, frowning. Ruby had stepped in a puddle and was moaning about that now. She had good reason- it probably wasn't water, but Oz wished she would keep her trap shut all the same. She was making him anxious, on top of the anxiety brought on by the amount of Draculoids crawling around just ahead. To combat it, he stuck his fingers in his mouth and started chewing lightly.

"Everyone know the plan?" Oz was hardly visible, dropping his hands to his sides and disappearing completely when the streetlamp at the mouth of the stagnant alley flickered every few seconds. It took a moment, but Scarecrow finished tying his hands after a lot of tugging and pulling and rope burning, and Oz tested the bindings anxiously, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"Looking for a little junkie kid, and a guy who looks kinda like Molotov Cocktail, Poison said," Iron Man announced, earning a frantic head bob from their leader.

"Why Molotov?" Ruby asked, watching with moderate amusement as Patchwork Lion coughed blood that speckled all over the Scarecrow's (until then) untarnished white uniform. Scarecrow was significantly less amused, and whacked Lion over the head with the butt of Oz's rifle.

"Because he looks like Molotov?" Iron Man sighed, as if this should have been obvious. Ruby stuck her tongue out at him and he rolled his eyes, muttering something about "growing up".

"They're related, ain't they?" Patchwork Lion hissed through gritted teeth, both his gloved hands pressed over the pain in his head before Scarecrow yanked them behind his back and tied them together.

"Doesn't matter, does it? The Fourth Division and their apparent lineage are none of our concern." Scarecrow said. He finished off Iron Man's ropes and searched Oz's back pocket for his sacred pack of cigarettes before he stuck one, unlit, between his leader's lips. Figured Oz might as well be chewing on something. He then bent, retrieving the green sniper rifle and coming up behind them all.

"Walk," Scarecrow ordered, and just like that, they were all in character. A captured Killjoy and three curfew-breakers. Or two curfew breakers and an attempted terrorist, Iron Man was pretty odd looking compared to the rest of the group.

Oz was perfectly comfortable on the street now, because he had a very good understanding of how this was supposed to work, it was holding the rifle that had actually made him nervous. He and Scarecrow had possibly the most effective, controversial bond of any of the Killjoys, and it was almost scary how efficient their interactions were.

Ruby, Lion and Iron Man stood in a line in front of their leader, faces turned downwards, heads bent. They were decent actors, more conservative, definitely. Playing it safe.

Oz played it up. He sneered at anyone who came near, snapped his teeth at them and growled like an animal. Some people jumped, or grabbed their counterparts and hurried them along. Draculoids stared, the hollow expanse of their eyes seeming to follow Oz's movements. All it would take was Scarecrow to shove him and send him stumbling and giggling, and the Draculoids would lose interest.

Oz's feet snagged the broken sidewalks, and even the most tuned out users squatting in their corners were paying attention to his exposed patchy green hair. Colour was such an odd concept to anyone in the city, who saw none of it anymore.

The Scarecrow played his part flawlessly, as he had been trained, keeping dead silent and shoving his captives along with just enough force, driving them with blunt hits and gun pointing. He and Oz played their parts so well that everyone else's behavior was excused, and the others became a bit careless.

Ruby, after gaining a bit more confidence in her abilities as an actress, would smirk at anyone whose gaze lingered on her too long, usually sending them shying away by running her tongue over her lips slowly. One scruffy gentleman was not deterred, and whistled.

The Scarecrow shot him dead, and cracked Ruby over the head with Oz's gun so hard she was dizzy. He was allowed to do that, if questioned he could say he was protecting her virtue. It was too easy.

Oz snickered.

They were stopped on occasion, mostly for shooting the man. And every time, Oz would run up as Scarecrow was working his magic, trying to get in the enemy's face, screaming and laughing and growling and making it apparent he was not in his right mind. One look at him was usually all it took to get a pass, usually, maybe a few words from Scarecrow. Nobody liked dealing with the crazy ones. Most of them were just grumpy because of where they were stationed- literal slums with blanket-roofed shacks for houses and rats scurrying around their feet. Not to mention the smell, the smell was repulsive.

Ruby screamed whenever a rat came near her, and at one point Lion fainted. That had caused a ruckus, and a lot of offers to help that Scarecrow had to politely decline.

Oz screamed at Lion until he woke up, being as colourful as he could with his language. In the end, they had to drag him into a newly abandoned building (Scarecrow knew how to put a gun to good use), ripping the shades shut and barring the front door with a half broken wardrobe from the living room. They lay Lion down on the floor and stationed Ruby to look after him, the rest of them going to strategize.

Well, the Third Division couldn't go back out now; that would be cowardly, and probably redundant. It was safe in here, as long as they weren't discovered. They'd been walking a long time, and already the security was getting stricter, the conditions improving little by little.

They had their mission to carry out- find Casca and scout out the best way to get into the city unnoticed. This was mandatory, because not everyone could use Scarecrow, and even using him now was risky. They'd catch on eventually, and then what? They'd be without a plan and the Killjoys would be stuck.

They also needed to find drugs, Oz made that clear. They needed drugs for his team, of course, who needed them to function properly. Lion, to keep his panic under control, Ruby to keep her questionable tendencies to a bare minimum, and Iron Man to actually feel something. Scarecrow just took them because he could. That was okay too.

Now, there was also the task of getting pills for Kobra Kid as well. He was the only one in the First Division that Oz actually liked, and that made this perfectly okay. Kid didn't owe him anything, Oz had told his group this, Oz just genuinely liked him.

Trying to dissuade him from the drugs hadn't worked (not like they were particularly harmful anyways, just those weird euphoria pills Iron Man liked a lot,) so Oz was now totally compliant, even if Poison would wring his neck if he ever got caught. Not that Poison would ever find out. Far as Oz could tell, Kid was good at hiding his unsavory habits.

It was good to be in the First Division's good books, too. Sucking up to the leader's kid brother would be a good idea, Oz figured.

Scarecrow had suggested that he and Oz should take the job alone until everyone else got proper civilian garb, something Casca was supposed to provide. Everyone kind of just meant Iron Man, who stuck out like a sore thumb in his armour.

And right now, willpower was at an all-time low. Iron Man was screaming now, and Ruby, who had given up, was having a rather intense makeout session with Lion, who had literally just woken up. So maybe just two people would be the best after all.

Oz just wanted to get out of there. He called a hasty "Stay safe!" out to the rest of his team before shoving Scarecrow out the door. Scarecrow was just as eager as his leader to ditch the psychos.

"It's nice being this free, isn't it?" Oz sighed, earning him a look from the nearest Draculoid. He glared at the monster, running his tongue over his teeth.

"You should not provoke them intentionally," The Scarecrow replied curtly, jabbing Oz in the back with the rifle. The gun was bright green._ Emerald City_, the gun was called, it was Oz's favourite. Oz had refused to let it be spray-painted white. Now it just looked like Scarecrow was humiliating him, threatening him with something that had once served to keep him safe.

It was such a lovely act, Oz couldn't help but laugh. "It's boring doing this, being reserved. Can't we raise a ruckus instead?"

"We have to be cautious. You are not behaving in a rational manner presently. Stop."

"Kidding, kidding!" Oz reached for his mouth, grazing his teeth over his curled knuckles. He caught a broken edge of enamel, and raised a bit of crimson. He looked a bit upset by this, but only because he preferred chewing on his fingers. "Hey, do you think we'll run into Rejection?"

"Paisley-May does not work with Edgar, no," Scarecrow said bluntly, and Oz sighed miserably.

"Edgar's a weird name. I like Casca better."

"Paisley-May isn't much better, Geoffrey," Scarecrow said, and Oz figured Scarecrow had merely inputted the last bit to use his real name, which was the most irritating thing someone could do to the Third Division's leader. It also showed off whatever weird eye device they gave the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W Division to let them identify outlaws flawlessly.

"Why do you gotta use real names man? Don't call me that. And she has a lovely name, thank you. I miss her a lot, you know? Never get to see her anymore. And she doesn't call me."

"Get over it."

They walked, and Oz swung his arms and sang off key as loud as he could, attracting a lot of attention. They were far from where the rest of their team was now, getting into the nicer part of Battery City. Not the heart of it, they were still far from there. But it was nicer than the slums here at least. This part had little square houses, painted white, and tidy rectangular lawns which were more like lots of land because nothing grew. It was still oddly cheerful, maybe because it was better than the slums.

"Why can't we live like this?" Oz asked, flipping up the red flag on a mailbox. He'd always wanted a house like this, with a white picket fence in a happy little neighbourhood.

"We're fugitives," Scarecrow replied curtly, and Oz burst out laughing.

"Oh yeah!"

And they marched on in a demented, two-man parade.

* * *

Pax hated Oz, and he hadn't even met him formally yet.

Oz was way too loud against the headache the boy just couldn't seem to get rid of, (A side effect of withdrawal, Casca had tried to explain) and he was scary to look at. Casca also said that he drew all over his face with markers sometimes, which was something even Pax hadn't done at his highest.

Plus the guy was stone cold sober. It was ridiculous.

Maybe Casca had given him unrealistic expectations of what the Killjoys were like? Were they all like Oz? Poison had sounded sane enough when Pax had spoken to him, but if everyone else was like Oz, he wanted nothing to do with being a Killjoy.

He'd rather waste his mind away on drugs than lose it. Casca was giving him a piggyback ride. They were off home for the night, Pax's body clinging to sleep while his mind tried to stay alert enough to listen to Oz's mad ramblings far behind them. They could barely be heard now, and he was screaming.

"I don't like him," was all Pax said, and Casca laughed.

"Bit on the strange side, isn't he?"

The boy nodded and closed his eyes again, nuzzling his face into Casca's neck. He didn't even want to be awake anymore. These streets were depressing to him, middle of the city, buildings reaching up into the starless sky, Draculoids and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/S roaming freely, radios buzzing with static, white vans gleaming in the first rays of sunlight.

"I don't like him. That Scarecrow freaks me out. Still, maybe he's actually a really nice guy? Gotta give him a chance, Pax. Can you do that for me?"

"We're going to miss the curfew check," was Pax's response. The two had just followed Oz and the Scarecrow around all night, making sure the description Poison had provided was accurate, and also teaching Pax about stealth.

A crazy green haired man with an affinity for green, striped shirts, and coloured markers. Someone who walked hunched over, giggling or gnawing on his fingers until they bled. His tendencies creeped Pax out- they were less than savory. But they were sure it was him now, and they could contact Poison later for their whereabouts. Whereabouts, Poison had explained, that might be a bit delayed, depending on how distracting Ruby was being. Casca had a feeling he would not like Ruby.

"We're lucky we're not rich," Pax said suddenly, and Casca's gaze drifted back, confused.

"Whaddya mean? Being rich would be awesome. Get a penthouse suite in the tallest building... Man, I've been living off dry bread and Power Pup for the LONGEST time okay? I've been eating dog food, Paxy. That's not okay with me. If we were rich I could eat whatever I wanted, do whatever I wanted. Maybe even get John- uh... Get my _brother_ out of those blasted Zones!"

"But you're irresponsible," Pax said quietly, eyes open again. He watched a Draculoid who had noticed them, following its movements with his eyes before frowning and looking away. "They'd take you away from me."

"I'm okay being poor," Casca said. He was silent for a moment, looking out at the skyline, the pretty hues of the rising desert sun. "This whole big brother thing is pretty nice. I'll ask John if I was this nice when I was a kid when I see him again."

"I don't like being small though."

"You think size matters, Killjoy?" Casca grinned. "Little Girl is small too, and you know what Pax?"

The young boy furrowed his brow, caught between irritation at being compared to a girl and curiosity. "What?"

"Party Poison thinks she can save the world."

* * *

"Are you still up?"

"Go to sleep, Gracie."

She had only been heard through a gap in the recording he was listening to and copying down on paper. A silly, insignificant report with no fatalities. Poison's mouth twitched up, but he didn't look back at Little Girl, standing in the dark doorway as he sat at his desk, poring over report after report. It was almost maddening, especially when he hadn't slept in 24 hours. It was all he wanted now. Coffee and sleep.

Little Girl seemed to have a different opinion, because she went over and switched off his flashlight, leaving them in complete darkness. Poison sighed, and pulled his headphones off, leaving them around his neck. The recording droned on and on, sounding small and tinny.

"Grace-"

"Don't you _Grace_ me, Gerard."

"Go to sleep." Party Poison could hear the smile in Girl's voice, the little fox. Not even his brother called him that. She really knew how to get under his skin. It was kind of cute, in a way, especially the way she said it, drawing it out. _Gee-rard_. He rolled his eyes, unable to keep the smile off his own face. "Go to bed Gerard, or you're gonna fall asleep in the middle of a battle and die."

"My, that sounds awful." Girl found and gripped his arm, sliding her hand down until she found his hand. She stayed like that before making the real reason for her visit known.

"I had a bad dream," Girl said, all traces of her previous cheerfulness gone. Poison stood up and picked up his flashlight, switching it on so they could pick their way back to their room.

"What did you dream about?"

This happened a lot. And Poison knew what Girl was going to say already, the only surprise would be _who was it this time?_ It had been almost a month of bad dreams now, he made a note on it any time it happened. Some were pretty bad- he figured that was pretty normal in a kid who'd been through as much as her. Sure, it would be better if she hadn't had to endure nightmares of people dying, but Little Girl never let it bother her. Except the dreams had been the same lately, with minor differences.

Poison shut the ugly green curtains that Girl had thrown open to let moonlight in, taking his place in the well-worn chair that never seemed to leave the side of Girl's bed as she crawled under her dusty covers. Poison had been spending a lot of time there, usually waking up half sprawled over her bed anyways.

"Same dream?" Poison squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Who was it this time? By what means?

"You all die," Girl said, snuggling down into her bed. She said it now, so nonchalantly, and neither of them was horrified, neither even flinched. Poison just sighed.

"Obviously that hasn't happened, has it honey-"

"I got taken this time." Well, that was new. Poison sat straight up, alert and a bit scared. "And you were all dead, it was different this time."

"What was different about it?"

"We were outside... Out in the desert, yeah? We're usually in a building, you know, a building. With the lady. You know?"

"Uh huh?"

"And uh... the scary man-" Girl paused, having forgotten his name. Poison jumped in quickly.

"..Korse?"

Girl nodded, forgetting that Poison couldn't see her. "Korse, yeah, he took me away, and you were all lying on the ground, all dusty and dirty and bleeding... And it was awful!"

"Well Gracie, you know that's not gonna happen-"

"How do you know it won't?" She sounded upset, and Poison stroked her curly hair, completely wild without her hat. She stopped shaking after a while, bless her soul, and he replied when he was sure she was calm again.

"We haven't saved the world yet, Gracie. No dying before then."

Girl reached up, groping for his hand which he slid through hers, and held fast to it until she was asleep and Party Poison was nodding off in his chair.


End file.
